The Way We Were
by notevenifyoukillme
Summary: Angel reminisces about choices leading up to where he is today: today being early season 1 of AtS; one-shot.


**Authors Note: **I do not own Buffy, Angel (I wish) or any other BtVs or AtS characters, they are solely the property of Joss Whedon &etc.  
Plot: Angel reminisces about life with Buffy and the choices leading up to today (today being early season 1 of AtS). I'm bored, this is just some scribbling. This is my first song-story hybrid, wish me luck. The song featured here is Do What You Have To Do by Sarah McLachlan.  
Enjoy, hopefully. : D

* * *

1997,  
An alley near The Bronze.  
_  
What ravages of spirit, conjured this temptuous rage?  
Created you a monster,  
Broken by the rules of love._

"Maybe I don't want a friend," the hot-headed blonde snipped.

"I didn't say I was yours," replied the intoxicatingly mysterious man.

A smile playing across his face, he walked down the path and rested himself against an alley-wall.

"You didn't have to," Whistler laughed. "They got it right; this one _is _prettier 'n the last one."

Angel half-smiled. Something new was beginning for him, it wasn't the sunlight yet, but she could be - with whatever connotations that entailed.

"I wonder how she'll deal with The Master; kid's got her work cut out for her," Whistler looked thoughtful for a second and then mentally dismissed it. "Let's go get me a beer."

*

Early 1998,  
The Bronze.

_And faith has led you through it; you do what you have to do.  
_

Her eyes pleaded gently, they sought only him, and to him - in light and in dark - they remained loyal. They quickly struck down any resistance he held; any sense, any foreboding.

First demons walked the earth, then there were men, then what we know now as civilisation, but when everything had faded into nothing, still nothing but they remained and to them the world remained unchanged; the world was vigil in the wings, and in the foreground of all that was, they danced on air.

"Is it gone yet?" she asked softly.

"Is what gone?"

Buffy melted into Angels' chest, "Everything."

"No," said he, "But everything fades."

*

Early 1998,  
_Willy's._

_And I have the sense to recognise, that I don't know how to let you go. _

_  
_"Well geez Angel, that's a tough call, y'know what I'm sayin'?" Willy gushed.

Angel remained silent.

"I mean, have you ever considered it? Just one quick bite, meal for two and badda boom, you got a crypt for two and eternal happiness?"

The look Angel shot him caused Willy to relent.

"It wouldn't be her anymore, when the demon took over the she'd be gone. You know that."

"Couldn't you do that soul restoring thingy-ma-jig you got?"

"I don't know the spell, and if I didn't do it quickly enough and she fed... when she got her soul back she'd have to live with what she'd done, just like me."

"Yeah... And y'know, she's a Slayer, which means unforetold damage whether she's human _or _otherwise." Willy agreed. "Still, doesn't it tempt you a little bit? Having her forever?"

Angels' stare bored into him with fervent intensity.

"You have no idea."

*

Late 1998,  
Hell.

_Every moment marked,  
With apparitions of your soul.  
I'm ever swifly moving, t__rying to escape this desire.  
_

There were no words to describe what he was feeling, so he stopped talking, stopped begging, stopped thinking, stopped breathing. He _was_ all that was. Hell surrounded him, penetrated him, became him and fed him poison before his rest on a bed of rusty nails. There was no escape, everything that he feared and loathed greeted him with arsenic kisses and in his head, she screamed in pain.

For a hundred years, all Angel knew was pain.

*

Early 1999,  
Angels' mansion.

_The yearning to be near you; I do what I have to do.  
The yearning to be near you; I do what I have to do.  
But I have the sense, to recognise,  
that I don't know how to let you go.  
_

Passion was key; it drove the two through every aspect of their lives. They destroyed evil with passion and they lived and loved each other with that passion. It was a crippling thing to lose, and a difficult thing to rekindle.

There was a windstorm of evil and death surrounding them, and their passion was the single flickering flame that lit their way and kept them warm.

This is not to say that they didn't survive without each other, didn't fight or go on. They did, but it was dark. It was cold. Void of direction with a once brilliant flame now morphing into the wind that threatened them so harshly.

One day they would both know warmth again - they were strong enough for this; both utterly filled with passion as it drove them, but their lonely sparks conceded the magnificence of their combined flame. Their way was lit and their path was clear, but it was free of comforting shelter where they could rest for the night, warm in each others' arms.

"I... What was it like?" Buffy asked, looking like she was unsure of what to say. Angel was no surer of this himself.

"I don't think I can..." he began. He didn't welcome the memories that plagued his mind: pain, agony. Hell.

"Okay. I'm sorry," she said and Angel thought that he could hear her apologising for more than asking the wrong question. A slight colouring rose in her cheek and he reached out to brush her face with his fingertips. Startled by the gesture, Buffy instinctively jerked backwards.

Angel cast his eyes downwards; there was a definite reluctance in her. The way she looked at him and her body language told him she was distancing herself. Almost forgotten to him were the memories of Angelus' actions before hell, but they strolled into his mind and he realised why she would be reluctant to be near him.

_"Dream on, school girl. Your boyfriend's dead." _

"I'm sorry," she started, "I have to go, Mom will be awake soon."

Angel hadn't felt any anger towards Buffy because what she had done had been necessary, but he thought he detected some resentment or anger towards him about Angelus' actions. Only time would tell.

Angel was resigned as he watched the sunlight from afar, isolated passion burning inside his cold frame.

*

Mid 1999,  
A sewer.

_A burning ember, burning hot,  
And burning slow.  
Deep within I'm shaken by the violence of existing;  
For only you.  
_

"Angel, good to see you're back," Whistler said, casually strolling through the nameless muck and towards him.

"I've been back for a while, actually Whistler."

Whistler paused; he figured he'd better be honest. "Yeah, but I had to be sure that I wasn't going to run into Angelus if you and the girlfriend had a pelvic reunion," Angel growled and he chuckled.

Determined to get down to business, Angel spoke: "You know anything about this ascension?" Whistler was his one connection to whatever controlled everything - his last resort.

"All I know is it's going to be messy; this Mayor is a major deal, not to be taken lightly. He could pull this off. That's where your little Slayer comes in."

"What do I need to do?"  
"Do what she tells you."

Angel expected that Whistler would at least have had some sort of infuriatingly vague cryptic instruction for him: receiving what instead sounded like a parental command threw him. "What Buffy tells me? There's got to be something else; a contingency plan."

"Angel, do you remember what happened the last time I have you a contingency plan, or has your hundred year vacation to Hell clouded your memory?"  
Angel understood. "That was different, we won't..."

Whistler eyed him warily and began to walk towards the exit route of Sunnydale. "Do what you're told. Don't get pelvic. Two simple rules: obey them. Now, I've got my own apocalypse to attend to, you're not on the only Hellmouth in the world. Good luck, Angel."

"Thanks."

Whistler turned, "And also,"

"What?"

"Don't do anything stupid. I may not sound like the nicest fate in the world, but there are always more Slayers; so far we've only got one ensouled vampire"

Angel growled again, feeling his temper rise, "Goodbye, Whistler."

Whistler shrugged noncommittally and as he walked further away muttered to himself, "Watch out for that one, Slayer..."

*

Mid 1999,  
The Bronze.

_I know I can't be with you; I do what I have to do.  
_

"Flaky? I am _not _flaky! He's like, the _king _of flaking! There should be a flaking _award _for him!" Cordelia Chase boomed loud enough for the entire assemblage at The Bronze to hear, "I'm going to _eviscerate _Devon!"

"Buffy," Angel said, seeking her out amongst the crowd.

Buffy held an awkwardly defensive pose, "Oh, hey."

"I ... Saw you, I was patrolling, and I thought I'd..." Angel was losing faith in his plan to reconcile at The Bronze as the seconds went on.

"Stop to say hi, I get it," Pseudo-Angelus was still fresh in Buffys' mind, and Angel didn't fail to pick up on her 'I'd-rather-be-anywhere-but-here' vibe.

Angel stood and looked down at her silently. To him, silence was a common and normal thing; to her, it was just emphasising their perpetual awkwardness.

Obviously not enjoying Angels' gaze, Buffy blushed lightly and took a step backwards, becoming more intertwined with the scores of gyrating dancers.

Buffy seemed very eager to end the conversation and with one last glance at Angel said; "I'll uh, see you later and... Call you if there's trouble."

Angel stood there for a moment, just observing. Or brooding. Either conclusion would be correct. Turning away, he thought that this might be an omen of what was to come for them, and - although he didn't know it - this single thought was the beginning of the end of Buffy and Angel.

*

L.A.,  
Early 2000.

_And I have the sense, to recognise, but I don't know how to let you go.  
I don't know, how to let you go.  
_

"Hello? Hello?" Buffy's voice echoed sweetly, but without a word Angel hung up the receiver.

A second later Angel rushed into an alley beside his building, protecting a small child from a vampire.

The city screamed.

His new life awaited him.


End file.
